


The Prince and his Knight

by ManiLea



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29293104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManiLea/pseuds/ManiLea
Summary: Response to this prompt:Wonderbat princess/knight au but instead Bruce is a Prince and Diana’s his Knight
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 71





	1. The Champion of Themyscira

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this prompt maybe two years ago and desperately wanted to write it, but I had too many other projects at the time.
> 
> https://mln-fangirl.tumblr.com/post/174177009576/wonderbat-princessknight-au-but-instead-bruce-is
> 
> Here it is at last!

“HIS MAJESTY KING THOMAS OF GOTHAM!” the herald shouted from the black and silver squares of the podium. “HIS MAJESTY QUEEN MARTHA OF GOTHAM. HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE BRUCE OF GOTHAM.”

Three cheers rippled across the arena. Sandwiched between his parents, Bruce shuffled into the central box and lowered himself onto the pew. It would be a long slog to remain elegantly seated for the duration of the day.

He turned and found the person he was looking for right behind him.

“Would you like a cushion, your Highness?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

Alfred sailed out of the packed booth before Bruce could ask for a second cushion for his back. Father had said that Alfred had excelled in many stations before recently climbing his way to steward of Gotham Castle. He’d been an apothecary, a tailor and a night-watchman. There was next to nothing he could not do.

Bruce’s father rose to his feet. The crowd fell silent.

“Dear people of Gotham. As you are aware, trouble has been brewing in our beloved kingdom of late. Ruffians and scoundrels have taken to roaming our streets and fields at night. Many of you have been robbed and some of you have lost loved ones. I, as King of Gotham, will not stand for this. I have deployed the knights of the realm to seize these villains and protect you good people.”

Another cheer went up, but this time it was more subdued.

“As I protect you, I must protect those close to me. Prince Bruce is my one and only heir.” He put a firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “My son has reached 14 years of age and must learn his way in the world. I cannot keep him within the confines of the castle forever. I can, however, offer him the very best protection in all of the allied realms. That is why the strongest and most loyal fighters known to us have been invited here today.

“The winner of this tournament shall be appointed a Knight of Gotham. They shall not be any ordinary knight. They shall be the personal guard and companion of my son, and shall be granted a place in my household as long as they live.” Bruce’s father opened his arms. “Let the tournament begin!”

The cushion – two cushions – arrived. Bruce arranged them and settled in.

“Could have brought me some cider, Alfred.”

“Yes, your Highness. And a chamber pot.”

“Hmmph.”

Alfred had a point. It would be over 2 hours before an interval.

The first round pitted fighters with similar skill sets against each other. The first pair were Knights of the Lantern Corp, a man and a woman in bright green. Those uniforms would have to go if they came under his employment, thought Bruce. They fought with rings that projected weapons and shapes. The man won.

The second pair made Bruce sit up. They were two extraordinarily tall and muscular women.

“Artemis, Shim’Tar of Bana-Mighdall!” called the herald.

The red-haired woman waved indifferently.

“Diana, champion of Themyscira!”

The one with the black hair beamed and waved to the crowd, turning on the ball of her feet, like she was greeting each one of them personally. Even at the distance from which Bruce sat, he saw how her skin glowed and how her eyes shone.

“Amazons,” said his mother under her breath. “I thought I would never see one. They rarely come among mortals.”

The Amazons bowed to each other. The starting horn rang out. Artemis charged at Diana and jumped two metres in the air. Diana moved out from underneath her, skidded in a half-circle and when Artemis landed on her knees, Diana’s sword was pointed at her throat. It was too easy.

When the tournament adjourned for the midday dinner, their guests rattled off the contestants’ names, gushing and sighing over what each of them had done. Bruce couldn’t remember half of them. He remembered Diana, and he couldn’t wait for the next round to start so that he could see her again.

She was up against Katar of Thanagall. He was fierce and heavy-handed. Bruce’s stomach turned every time his mace came down. It looked like it would rip through even immortal flesh. Diana met every one of his blows with perfect timing. Watching her, Bruce was as envious and he was admiring. He had trained too, hours a day since the age of eight, and he would not have been able to withstand the blow of that mace, let alone strike back within the next second.

The duel ended with the mace flying out of the arena and past the stands.

“That had better not have hit my rose beds,” said Bruce’s mother.

By nightfall, everyone could guess who the finalists would be, and by the middle of the next day they were proven right. Diana of Themyscira was the first to emerge victorious from all her duels. Bruce had to contain himself from whooping along with the commoners.

The second victor was Arthur of Atlantis. Bruce had heard plenty about him. He was rumoured to be the illegitimate son of the late Queen Atlanna of Atlantis, and his supposed half-brother, the king, had cast him out to end the speculation.

Diana of Themyscira strode across the arena and stopped right before the royal box. Bruce held his breath. She made a low curtsey, then knelt on one knee. 

“I beg a token from his Royal Highness.”

Bruce blushed furiously. Did she know that he favoured her? Of course – anyone could guess he would favour her over the brutish merman.

He leisurely untied the cloth belt around his waist, taking care not to seem too eager. Stepping forwards, he tied it into a pretty bow around her sleeve. As she straightened, he threw in a wink. Someone in the crowd whistled.

Diana curtsied again. “I endeavour to do honour by your Highness.”

The starting horn sounded. Arthur spun his trident. Diana swung her lasso. Arthur dodged the lasso and ran at her with his trident still spinning. Diana reeled in the lasso and pulled out her sword. Somehow, her sword hit the spinning trident at the right angle, knocking its prongs into the ground.

Arthur pulled it out immediately and thrust it into Diana. So Bruce thought. It hit her wide, bronze belt as she jumped up and over him. Again and again, it seemed like one of them was going to make the final blow, but the other always bounced back from it. The fight went on for nearly half an hour and neither contestant seemed to tire.

Arthur spun his trident for what seemed like the hundredth time but at last Diana’s sword was caught in its prong. A screech of metal rang out as Arthur flung the sword out of Diana’s hands. Bruce gripped his seat. She couldn’t lose – and she hadn’t. She still had her lasso.

With one whip, the lasso wrapped itself around the trident. Surely it would break, thought Bruce, but the lasso seemed to be made out of a material stronger than steel. Arthur could not break free of it and so he and Diana were locked in a tug-of-war.

Diana ripped the trident from Arthur’s hands. While it unravelled, Arthur lunged to take hold of Diana’s arm. Releasing the lasso, she grabbed his arms too. There were no rules against hand-to-hand combat. A duel could go on until a contestant ran out of non-fatal moves.

Diana twisted her arms to the side, forcing Arthur’s body sideways and skimmed him through the dirt. Before he could get up, he was cocooned in her lasso.

Diana of Themyscira raised her arms and bowed. The crowd went wild.

“I had in mind a boy for you,” said his father regretfully. “Someone who would be a friend as well as a guard. But here we are. At least she’s of a similar age.”

***

Bruce’s room was on the right of the upper gallery that overlooked the great hall and adjacent to where the king and queen slept. The steward, a tight-lipped old man by the name of Alfred, had made it clear to Diana that her place was right outside his door, even by night, and not one step closer.

Despite that, Diana knocked.

“Come in.”

The room was furnished with a four-poster bed, dressed in red silk sheets. Across from it was a closet and a writing desk. Bruce was at the chess table, which was arranged just under a small window so that the black and white pieces shone. Bruce gestured for her to take the other chair.

“We should get to know each other,” she said gently. “Come, ask me anything you like.”

“Um… what is your family like?”

“I have my mother. She is my closest family. But all who live in Themyscira are considered family. We are warriors and sisters together.”

“So… I guess you don’t have much experience with boys.” He blushed. “Not like that. You probably haven’t met many boys.”

“That is true,” Diana smiled broadly. “In both senses. I had a girlfriend before I came here.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Why did you break up?”

“Simply to come here. I grew… alienated from Themysicra even before I left. I cannot be a warrior without a cause to fight for.”

Bruce nodded without looking at her. He scraped his chair back awkwardly and left the room. It was the reaction they had warned her about, Diana guessed. Men did not want to be saved by a woman.


	2. Long live Gotham

Bruce was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, hands behind his back. He’d seen her from the rear window of the upper gallery, which overlooked the stable yard.

“You said you were into girls.”

Diana blinked. “Yes, I like girls.”

“Then what were you doing with Fletcher Trevor?”

Diana nudged him aside. “With respect, your highness, that’s not for you to ask.”

“Stop with the formality. You were the one who said we should be friends.”

“All right,” said Diana. “Steve asked me if I would watch the stars with him this evening, since everyone will be in the great hall for the entertainment.”

“ _I’m_ not going to be there for the entertainment. I told my parents I don’t want to see Minstrel Zorro with them. I’ll be in my room, so you’ll have to stay with me.”

“Yes,” Diana pouted and patted his shoulder. “That’s what I told Steve.”

Bruce went to his room. “Come, play chess with me.”

It was their usual indoor entertainment if they weren’t in the great hall. Diana hadn’t played the game before her arrival at Gotham Castle and within 6 months she’d learnt to lose pretty well.

“I’m black.”

“I know…”

Diana moved a pawn. It was the one he’d started with last time. She was attempting to copy his tactics, though she couldn’t remember anything that had come three moves after that.

Bruce moved a pawn, then kept moving only pawns every time after that over a very short distance.

The music from the great hall started up – brash strings and a light drum. Few voices accompanied it. The king and queen had not invited any guests – the entertainment was just for themselves and the household.

Alfred came in. “Supper will be served shortly.”

“We’ll have it here,” said Bruce.

Dinner for two across the chess table, thought Diana. That was the most intimate thing that had happened to her since she’d left Themyscira. 

She inspected Bruce’s face, exactly half of which was illuminated by the standing torch. He had lost his childlike softness and formed a manly jaw with patches of strong black hair. He was younger than her but only by a year or so.

Diana shook her head. She had better stop those thoughts there. He was her master.

“Checkmate.”

“What? How?” He’d freed the queen without her noticing. “You know I’ll get you back tomorrow in training.”

Bruce smiled. “I know.”

They played a second game through dinner and Diana lost again. Alfred came up to collect the plates and when they moved on to the third game, he returned to reorganise Bruce’s wardrobe. Diana felt like they were being chaperoned.

The music stopped abruptly. A hammer sounded at the castle doors.

Bruce was taking his time over his move. She must have somehow improved. Diana went out to the upper gallery and peered down at the hall. King Thomas was at the door, talking to someone outside.

“Hand over Zorro,” came a faint, hard voice.

“Please, no, your Majesty. They’ll kill me,” whimpered the minstrel.

“He is under our protection.”

“I don’t care. I’ll get him and you won’t stop me.”

The stranger turned away. King Thomas called the porter to lock and bar the windows and doors. The minstrel was to remain in the castle overnight.

Diana returned to the chess table, feeling uneasy.

“It’s your turn,” said Bruce impatiently.

“Hang on.”

Diana stepped onto the chair, cranked open the window and pushed her whole torso through. She twisted around, in the hope of seeing who the stranger was and where he had gone. He was invisible in the dark, but beyond the trees, just below the fortress, was a growing ball of light.

Diana stepped back onto the chess table, scattering the pieces, and grabbed Bruce from under his shoulders. She pulled them both through the window.

“What the–? What are you doing?!”

Diana climbed out onto a ledge and lifted Bruce over her shoulder. In one leap they landed and rolled onto the flowerbeds.

“Shh!” said Diana.

A great ball of fire hurtled over them and crashed through the lower windows of the castle. It blew up. Flames rattled at the windows, exuding thick black smoke.

Bruce stood up and ran towards the castle. “Mother! Father!”

Diana caught up with him and held him firmly. He struggled in her arms.

“I’m sorry. I can’t let you go.”

“No… NO!”

She led Bruce through the forest to the row of cottages where many of the castle staff lived. The spinster, Etta Candy, agreed to look after him.

At the castle, the knights and other members of the household had started putting out the fire. Diana took a barrel and filled it from the well. As she looked up, she saw Alfred with his own barrel, his eyes dark and damp.

“You got out!” How?”

He lowered his head. “I had to see to the king and queen. I found them… the bodies, I mean.”

He choked and Diana put her arms around him. “The murderer will pay.”

“With all the villains in this kingdom, it’ll be like looking for a needle in haystack.”

***

When Diana woke the next morning, Bruce was already out in the field, practising fencing with Alfred. It was a chilly, windy day but both of them were sweating like they’d be practising for hours.

“We can cancel training for this week – it’s all right,” said Diana.

“No,” said Bruce. “Diana, please ask the castellan to approve the rebuilding of Gotham Castle immediately.”

“Alfred should–”

“As you can see, Alfred is busy,” said Bruce sharply.

Diana pulled her cloak around her and started off down the lane. She was sure that Alfred was capable of training and protecting Bruce, but she didn’t really want to take up Alfred’s stewarding duties. It was just Bruce’s confusion after what had happened the previous night.

Alfred had been the one to officially break the news to Bruce. Perhaps that was why he wanted to keep Alfred close. And perhaps he resented her for pulling him away from the castle while his parents died. Diana sighed. She had done her job and that was all she knew how to do.

Gotham Castle was cleared of debris over the next week. As Diana was the strongest person there, she was obliged to help. Bruce remained at the cottages with Alfred and Diana took to sleeping in the armoury, which was an outer part of the building that had been untouched by the fire.

The structure of the castle was found to be intact, but the inner beams, window frames and doors had to be rebuilt. Bruce moved into his parents room immediately, to Diana’s surprise. Accordingly, she took up her post outside his door.

“You should use my old room,” he said curtly, before he went in for the night.

“What do you mean? I can’t protect you from there.”

“Alfred is staying in my room, as he did with my father when he was young. So you don’t need to be here. Besides,” a hint of softness came into Bruce’s voice. “A lady should sleep in a bed, and not on a hard floor.”

“I’m a knight, not a lady,” Diana replied.

Bruce closed the door behind him.

Diana was tempted to defy him and remain where she was, but it was mid-winter, and even for her, it was getting uncomfortable to lie on the bare boards. She decided to meet herself halfway and took the heavy satin quilt from Bruce’s old room, wrapped it around her and sat at the edge of the balcony with her legs hanging down. Even though Bruce had not used it for over a month, the quilt still smelled like him. 

How foolishly hopeful it had been of her to think that things would return to normal after the castle was restored. Bruce was irrevocably changed. The proud, cheeky glint in his eyes was gone, and so were his smirking smile and his many demands.

There were no more grand suppers in the great hall and certainly no evening entertainment. Bruce began to dismiss anyone who wasn’t absolutely necessary to the castle’s running – the chaplain, the herald, the bottler. If he or Alfred could manage their job they had to go, and so the clerk, the porter, the tailor and the apothecary went too.

Diana thought he would disband the Royal Council and the order of knights, including her. One morning she heard Bruce arguing with the Royal Chancellor over it; the latter insisted that there was an ancestral law binding the council and the knights to the monarch.

“No council is being held today, so get out of my sight!”

The chancellor bowed. “Until next week, your Majesty.”

Bruce clenched his fists and stormed up the stairs. Diana waited for him.

“Since you can’t get rid of me,” she said, trying to not let her voice break. “I’ll see you on the jousting grounds this afternoon.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

He pushed past her, but with two paces back she blocked his way again.

“You see no one except Alfred.”

“I wouldn’t see Alfred if I could help it, but I can’t do without him. He knows what I want before I do.”

 _And me?_ Diana thought, and immediately reproached herself for being so selfish. She had not been employed to be Bruce’s emotional crutch. She was there to save his life.

Was that not the same thing?


	3. The flighty king

Bruce’s bat-brooch was not in the smithy. Diana had suspected as much. Bruce had got into the habit of sending her on futile and unnecessary errands. It was always the case that Alfred was unavailable to go – the same Alfred who always managed to be in the right place at the right time when it was convenient to Bruce.

Someone had plastered a poster to the door of the smithy. It showed a picture of a circus tent on a hill, surrounded by terraced dwellings, making the location of the circus unmistakable. There was only one green hill in the middle of Gotham town.

“It’s today,” said the blacksmith’s apprentice. “You should go.”

“The king has his audience with the Royal Council,” Diana replied. “And I have to be where the king is.”

Not that Bruce would care if she took the day off. Diana hurried into the main building and up the stairs to Bruce’s room. Bruce swept past her, but not fast enough to escape her seeing the bat-brooch on his chest.

“Royal Council meeting.”

“Hold,” said Diana. 

She clutched his upper arms and brought him towards her. He smelled of minerals and incense, as if he’d been working in the apothecary. He didn’t seem unwell – in fact he was stronger than he had ever been, from the feel of his muscles beneath his sleeves.

Diana unpinned the crooked brooch, straightened it and patted it. His heartbeat was rapid.

“What have you been doing?”

Bruce went down to the great hall without a reply. Alfred was placing the chairs in a semi-circle in the middle of the hall. The councillors arrived, all 12 of them, and all of them were men over the age of 50. 

Bruce’s throne was set in front of the semi-circle. Diana stood behind the throne, slightly to the right.

“Of course, the main matter at hand today,” said the Royal Chancellor. “Is your Majesty’s approaching sixteenth birthday. Once sixteen, you shall come into your full right as King of Gotham and take on all duties that come with it.”

“I look forward to it, Chancellor Gordon,” Bruce replied.

“The coronation will take place on the same day as your birthday. We shall invite Gotham’s most esteemed allies, including King Clark of Metropolis and the newly crowned King Arthur of Atlantis.”

Bruce groaned softly. Diana knew he disliked the King of Metropolis, who was about the same age as him and a powerful ruler, though she did not know why. Bruce had become suspicious of everyone in the past year, so it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“We will also be inviting esteemed ladies from the kingdom and beyond,” said Chancellor Gordon with emphasis. “It would do well for you to get to know them.”

“Would be my pleasure,” said Bruce smoothly.

Diana clenched her jaw and tried not to betray any emotion. Though Bruce was putting on a laissez-faire attitude, they both knew what the council was asking. He was supposed to find a wife. It was like the little bat-brooch had been stuck through her chest.

The councillors droned on for the next hour about the state of Gotham’s finances (poor), the employment rate in the kingdom (poor) and the crime rate (extremely poor).

Several pairs of feet clattered over the flagged floor of the entryway. Diana drew her sword, but saw that they were Alfred and some of the knights of Gotham. The knights were panting.

“Murder at the circus!” one of them cried.

Bruce got to his feet; the councillors rose with him.

“What happened?”

“The travelling circus had their opening show today,” said Alfred plainly. “A very popular event it was – half of Gotham town turned up for it. Many children among them. The star of the show, simply called The Jester, used some of his tricks to maim and kill members of the audience.”

“It was a bloodbath,” said one of the knights. “When we got there he was gone. There was nothing we could do.”

“Nothing?” said Bruce, his voice simmering with anger. “How about you look for him?”

“Yes, your Majesty. But, um, we don’t know what he actually looks like.”

“Find him! Don’t rest until you have him locked up! I will not let this coward go unpunished.”

“Very good, your Majesty.”

The knights departed.

“I believe this meeting is concluded,” said Chancellor Gordon nervously.

Diana tentatively put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You will make an excellent king.”

“I should already be one.”

They went to the jousting ground. Bruce had resumed his training sessions with Diana instead of Alfred, but on the condition that he didn’t have to do the usual princely duels and jousts, with all their rules and etiquettes. He wanted to know how to fight dirty, like she did. It was an appropriate outlet for his grief, Diana had thought, and so she’d agreed.

She was distracted by the sight of a few knights galloping along the main road to the castle. Perhaps they’d found the Jester. Bruce’s bulk whammed into her, knocking her to the ground. As Diana picked herself up, she saw Bruce reeling in a black wire. He’d used it to swing himself off the podium.

“What is that?”

“You have your lasso. I wanted something like it. Alfred made it for me.” Bruce glanced over at the road. “I don’t think they’ve found him. They’ve given up already and come back to sleep.”

Diana continued to watch the road over the next day. Bruce disappeared with some excuse about seeing a new armourer who specialised in very fine chain mail. The knights returned intermittently and always empty-handed.

In the castle, Chancellor Gordon and Alfred were overseeing the preparations for the coronation. Three long tables and six long benches were brought out, and decked with gold-embroidered clothes, baskets of fruit and flowers. The throne was hoisted onto a platform.

The knights of Gotham were stationed at every possible entrance to the castle and in every tower. There could be no repeat of the night that the former king and queen had died. The public were not allowed on the grounds of the castle at all.

But after scouring the castle for Bruce and having no luck, Diana found herself standing next to an empty throne.

“Where is he?” asked Chancellor Gordon.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Isn’t it your job to stay with him?”

“Yes, sir.”

Chancellor Gordon knew how difficult Bruce had become. He had no business to be judging her.

Alfred sidled up to them. “Don’t you worry. His Majesty is working on his dress. He will be here shortly.”

A few minutes ago, Bruce had not been in his room, so Diana could not fathom where he was getting dressed. Alfred certainly knew. Diana waited until Chancellor Gordon walked away and pulled on Alfred’s sleeve.

“What is he really doing?”

“He is dressing.”

“Not that. The two of you are up to something and I want to know what it is!”

Just then, Bruce glided down the stairs in a puffed purple doublet and ermine cloak. He was newly shaven and his hair and skin were fresh and glowing. Diana couldn’t help smiling at him, even while her stomach twisted. Their lady guests wouldn’t be able to resist him.

Bruce stared at her in affront. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

Diana glanced down at her armour. “I am dressed.”

“Next time, get a gown.”

Diana rolled her eyes.

Bruce took his oath as king before the priest and all those who served him. Then the knights were to swear their oath to him. Chancellor Gordon called Diana up first.

Diana knelt before Bruce and pressed her lips to his offered hand. His thumb grazed her cheek. Diana hastily straightened and retreated. No one had seen it – her hair had blocked their view. 

After a moment, her heart steadied. Though it broke the rules of decorum, maybe it meant that Bruce’s old playful self was coming back. That was something to be thankful for. It didn’t mean more than that.

The rest of the knights and all the royal council gave their oaths to Bruce. A whole roast hog was carried to the middle of the three long tables and everyone in the hall raised their goblets of wine in a toast to the new king.

“His Majesty shall have the first dance,” announced Alfred.  
Bruce bowed to a slim woman with short black hair. He held out his hand and brought her to the centre of the room. Someone next to Diana whispered that her name was Lady Selina of Kyle. The minstrels struck up a ballad and the pair began to dance.

Diana turned her back. She didn’t need to watch them. Her duty was to watch for suspicious or unwelcome guests.

A tall nobleman in blue and red robes came in from the gatehouse. An insignia, S, was embroidered on his cape. He had to be the renowned King of Metropolis. He stopped in front of her and Diana bowed.

“Please don’t. It is my honour in meeting you, Madam Diana.” He beamed. “King Clark, at your service.”

“How do you know me?”

“Of course I know you. We all heard of how you saved King Bruce from the attack that killed his parents. You’re the best fighter in 52 kingdoms. King Bruce thinks very highly of you, which is why I’ve sought you out.”

“Me?”

“Yes, he doesn’t let you out of his sight.”

Diana shook her head. “You must mean Alfred, the steward.”

“No”, replied Clark in astonishment. “The council tried to persuade him to switch to a Gotham-born knight for his personal guard. They had some strange idea that they’d be more loyal. Bruce wouldn’t give in. He’d only have you.”

“Oh.”

“I thought you could help me to help King Bruce. I know what it’s like to be in his position. I lost my birth parents when I was just a baby. I’m fighting ceaselessly to keep my kingdom safe from the cruel and greedy Lord Luthor. I know what it’s like to feel like the world is against you and I would love it if he and I could work together. I’ve written to him but received no reply.”

“I wish I could help you, but he doesn’t listen to me,” said Diana. “In fact, he blames me for his parents’ death.”

“I’m sure you have it wrong, madam,” said Clark. “He blames himself.”

Diana had only been talking to Clark for a few minutes but already he felt like a close friend. She promised herself she would do her best to make Bruce like him too. She looked around for him. He wasn’t on the dance floor, or on the benches, or on his throne. Her heart sunk.

“He disappears like this,” said Diana forlornly. “Every time I turn my back. But Alfred must be with him – he has also disappeared.”

“Yes,” said Clark. “And so has the Lady Selina of Kyle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's interested, I made "Gotham Castle" in The Sims 4. 
> 
> It's available here: https://www.ea.com/games/the-sims/the-sims-4/pc/gallery/11006A68743111EB8FC13CBA924B87DD?searchtype=ea_origin_id&time=all&category=all&searchquery=Sakuntal&sortby=downloads&max=50&maxis=false


	4. The Bat-Knight

Diana tapped the door to Bruce’s room so it opened a crack. The closet was half open but there was no sign of movement. Diana opened it fully. No one was there. She would have been relieved, except that Kyle Manor was within Gotham and it would make much more sense for a pair of eager lovers to retreat there.

She stepped out and watched the dancers and feasters move around the great hall. King Clark was the centre of attention now that Bruce had disappeared. One thought came to the forefront of Diana’s mind. Lady Selina was new, but Bruce’s disappearances were not. She had to find out where he had been going.

Bruce’s bedroom door creaked behind her and Alfred emerged.

“Where were you?”

“Tidying his Majesty’s clothes, Madam. His Majesty is taking a walk with Lady Selina. You mustn’t worry for his safety – the lady’s guards are with them.”

“Alfred! I was just in Bruce’s room and you were not there. So _where were you? _"__

____

____

“I see. I was in the closet, Madam. Those furs are not worn often, so I put them right at the back.”

A likely story. Diana nodded and held herself together. Once Alfred had gone down to the great hall, she went into Bruce’s room again.

The closet was deep and full, and there was enough space to step into it, but nothing warranted doing so, even at Alfred’s smaller height. A large buckled wooden case lay on the floor of the closet. Diana pulled it out to see what was inside.

It uncovered a square manhole that went right through the bottom of the wardrobe and through the floor below it. Peering into it, Diana saw a series of rungs on the wall. She fetched a torch from the wall-scone and descended.

The rungs went on and on like there was no end. The air was stuffy and damp, and Diana was tempted to give up on it – but surely this was where Bruce and Alfred had been going all along.

Her foot knocked into stone. She was able to back out of the chute and bring down the hand that was holding the torch. She was in a crypt, by the look of it. In the two years that she had lived at Gotham Castle, she’d never had an inkling that there was a crypt. It had to be somewhere between the cellar and the dungeons.

Presumably the tombs were full, but someone had been making use of their robust, smooth lids as tables. Some of them were set up for the practise of alchemy, with corked jars, scales, maps and strange-looking liquids. Others displayed suites of armour and collections of weapons. On one tomb were scores of throwing blades in the shape of bats.

The bats confirmed it. Bruce had an obsession with them. Diana looked more closely at the map. He’d circled the location of the hill where the circus had been and a few other locations. Some small jars were next to the map, all containing white paint of varying shades and consistency.

The rumble echoed through the crypt. Diana ducked behind a tomb. A man, covered from head to toe in some tight black material, entered through the wall. He was dragging something across the floor, something that left streaks of white paint on the stones. 

Diana almost gasped aloud. It was a man painted as a clown. No patch of skin was uncovered, even on his neck and hands. The hands were what created the trail and seemed perfectly positioned to be comfortable enough, pushing the weight of his body ever so slightly above the hard floor. A hand opened and closed around something – a fallen bat-blade.

Bruce stopped in front of the opposite wall and released the Jester’s body to feel for the opening. Diana leapt onto the tomb and sprang over it, just in time to grab the Jester’s wrist before he could plunge the blade into Bruce’s back. She threw him against the side of the tomb, rendering him unconscious.

“Bruce?”

Bruce pulled down his cowl. It and the rest of his suit seemed to be made of a very fine black chain mail. “What are you doing here?”

“Me? What are you doing here? What is all this?”

“This is my base of operation. Come, bring him through.”

Diana lifted the Jester with one hand and stepped through the sliding wall after Bruce. They were in the dungeons, as Diana had guessed. There were no current inmates and therefore no guard. Bruce conjured a key and Diana dumped the Jester in a cell. Bruce locked it and shook the door to make sure it stayed.

“How did you find him?”

“I’ve been conducting some investigations these past few days. Let’s go up, I’ll explain everything.”

They went back through the crypt and up the chute to Bruce’s room. Bruce locked the door and started to unclip the seams of his chain-mail suit.

“Where is Lady Selina?”

Bruce smirked. “That’s your first question? I spilled some wine on her dress so she’d have to leave at the same time as me. Don’t feel bad, she wouldn’t have wanted to stay much longer. She has too many enemies.”

That only opened up more questions. Diana proceeded carefully. “You shouldn’t leave the Jester down there. I know he’s terrible, but we can’t let him starve to death.”

“I’ll make sure one of the servants finds him tomorrow. Then I’ll start a hearing. I may be working outside of the law but at my core I’m still a man of justice.”

The suit dropped around Bruce’s ankles. Diana was stood with her body angled, so as not to stare at his sculpted legs, but it took her a minute to form a new sentence.

“They’ll wonder who put him there.”

Bruce pulled his tunic over his head. “They’ll already have the answer. The Bat-Knight has become something of a legend these past few months. Diana, you must not say a word to anyone.”

Even Diana had heard of the Bat-Knight. She’d thought it was a tale to scare children into behaving themselves. He’d only gained fame recently, but Bruce must have been developing him from the moment his parents had died. That was why he’d wanted to learn to fight dirty.

“But… why?”

“My father’s dream was to see Gotham rid of criminals. I have to honour that. You’d be surprised at how far their imagination goes when they see someone jumping of the shadows. The Jester is different. He isn’t scared of anything. So I had to lock him up.”

“I suppose Alfred knows.” Bruce nodded. Diana’s raised to a squeak. “Here I was, thinking I was failing at the task your father set me and that you hated me too much to have me anywhere near you. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You would be against it. You and everyone else in this castle would have me wrapped in goose-down. I am shielded from everything, like a helpless child, while the King of Metropolis may lead every charge in every one of his battles.” Bruce balled his hands. “I am not helpless. I _will not_ be helpless.”

Diana released a sigh. “All right. Do whatever you need to do. I’m not going to stop you. But I have to do my job too, and that means I am coming with you.”


	5. Mother of the heir

“Do you intend to propose marriage to Lady Selina of Kyle?”

Bruce put down his knife and fork. “Not at present, Chancellor Gordon.”

“We should arrange another feast, so that you and she become better acquainted.”

It had only been a week since the last feast. He had tracked down two more criminals since then, with Diana standing by, out of sight and with a promise to not help him unless his life was in imminent danger. One of the criminals was now certain that his lair was haunted and would not return. The other, he calculated, would need a bigger scare or a punch to the face.

“What’s the hurry? My father wasn’t married until he was twenty.”

“Your father, when he was twenty, still had a father and an uncle living. If something happens to your Majesty, God forbid, that is the end of the Waynes.”

“So it’s the matter of a child, not a woman.”

“Your Majesty received the talk on sexual relations.”

Diana, on Bruce’s right, coughed on her mead.

“If Lady Selina is not to his Majesty’s liking, I could recommend one Lady Pamela Isley.”

Both of the ladies were low-grade criminals. Bruce didn’t want to tell the royal chancellor that. They had ended up in the wrong social circles and been in some unfortunate situations, but they weren’t terrible enough to bother convicting. Neither were they the right women to be Queen of Gotham.

“I don’t have the time for this,” said Bruce.

“I disagree,” said Alfred.

Bruce glowered across the table at him. If anyone knew how occupied his days were with alchemy and physical training, it was Alfred.

The subject of a second feast was dropped, or so Bruce thought. Somehow the servants got wind of the idea, and they took it as a certainty and began gossiping about who would be there and what they might wear. Bruce didn’t have the heart to disappoint them. He gave it his approval on the condition that it would be a charity feast. Every guest would have to donate money to the families who had lost someone at the Jester’s massacre.

“Bruce, you have to invite the King of Metropolis.”

“Why, because you like him so much?” said Bruce sourly.

Diana had been talking about the King of Metropolis at every possible opportunity since the last feast. They were apparently on first-names terms. It was all ‘Clark would be so impressed you caught the Jester’ and ‘We must visit Metropolis one day – it’s a great inspiration for Gotham’. He’d have to keep a close eye on the two of them.

“Because it would do you good to spend time with someone like him.”

Bruce scowled. He didn’t have much choice in the matter. He couldn’t invite other dignitaries and not his most powerful neighbour. It would be taken at great offence.

On the day of the feast, Bruce sat on his throne while the guests entered. Chancellor Gordon brought every young woman up for Bruce to greet personally. Alfred followed Chancellor Gordon’s lead and before Bruce knew it, a line of ladies snaked across half the hall.

“Your Majesty, Lady Zatanna Zatara.”

“So enchanted – mind the pun if you will.” Bruce winked at her.

The Lady Zatara looked less than impressed. “I will.”

As she moved on, Alfred whispered in his ear. “She would be a great ally.”

“I don’t like magic.”

Next was a tall and willowy warrior-princess with dark hair and emerald eyes.

“Talia al Ghul,” said Alfred.

“What a pleasant surprise. I was under the impression our kingdoms were enemies,” said Bruce courteously.

“They are. Yet I was curious to meet you.”

“I’ll be watching her,” said Diana from his left shoulder, as Talia went away.

The next guest stepped forward. It was King Clark of Metropolis.

“This line is for the ladies,” said Bruce coldly.

“You’ve seen more than plenty of them. Any more and you won’t be able to choose – isn’t that right, Alfred?”

“You make an excellent point, your Majesty,” said Alfred cheerily.

“In that case, I’m out of here.”

Bruce headed to the guardhouse. In the corner of his eye he saw Diana follow him. She had again ignored his request for her to wear a gown. It didn’t really matter. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room, even when wearing metal shoulder guards and a helmet.

Chancellor Gordon sidled up to him with a spring in his step. “Which one did you like best, your Majesty?”

“What?”

“The ladies! Which did you like best? I think a princess would suit you. Someone with a natural delicacy.”

“None of them are good enough. I need someone who is absolutely, 200 percent trustworthy. No questionable connections or history. I need someone who is as strong as I am, both physically and mentally. She has to be kind, beautiful and brave. She has to be able to support me in making Gotham a better place.”

“No one is perfect, your Majesty. One cannot be so particular.”

Bruce glanced at Diana, who had just blocked Talia al Ghul’s path to him, hands on her hips. “I have evidence to the contrary.”

“Pardon?”

Bruce shook his head. “I need some air.”

A group of latecomers stepped down from their carriage. They were two older couples, probably friends of his parents. Bruce stood in the shade of the guardhouse with his arms high and crossed, like a guard. The couple passed by him without batting an eyelid.

Something small moved out from under the carriage. It was a boy about eight years, dressed in a red tunic and yellow tights. He skipped over to the bushes along the side of the castle without making a sound.

Bruce sprung through the window of the guardhouse and caught his skinny arm. The boy began to cry.

“Who are you?”

“Dick Grayson, Sir. Entertainment, Sir.”

Bruce didn’t bother to correct his ‘sir’. “The entertainment has arrived. We did not send for any children.”

“I wish to see his Majesty.”

“What for?”

“They put me in an orphanage. I can’t go back there.”

The boy was suddenly lifted off his feet by Diana. She removed his shoes, checked them for weapons, felt around his middle and put him back down again.

“He’s not a threat.”

“Of course he’s not, he’s an orphan!” An inexplicable wave of protectiveness came over Bruce. “How long have you been alone, my boy?”

“Since last Saturday.”

Last Saturday had been the day of the Jester’s massacre. Bruce was ashamed. It had not occurred to him that children might have been orphaned by it.

“I heard that you was holding this party for everyone who was at the circus. So I came.”

“It’s a fundraiser,” said Bruce. “You’re supposed to get the money afterwards.”

“Please let me stay! I really am an entertainer. I can earn my keep! Look!”

The boy did a backflip, bounced off the castle wall and landed with a pirouette.

“Just go in and eat as much as you like,” There was enough on the table to feed his guests for two days. “If anyone asks, tell them that you are King Bruce’s honoured guest.”

The boy’s eyes brightened and he ran inside.

“Bruce, now every beggar in town is going to turn up at your door,” said Diana.

Bruce shrugged. “Chancellor Gordon said I should have a child.”

No one took much notice of the raggedy boy wandering around Gotham castle, picking at food and sleeping under the stairs. Everyone assumed he was working in the kitchens or in the stables. Bruce had to spell it out to the Royal Council the next week, that this was his heir.

“Absolutely not,” spluttered Chancellor Gordon. “You cannot make a prince out of a street urchin.”

“His parents were very talented acrobats. The Jester threatened to kill the poor boy if they did not perform as he wanted them to. He seems to have inherited his parents’ physical prowess.”

“That does not make him fit to be a prince!”

“May I make a suggestion?” said Diana. “We should take him on as a page. He can assist me and the other knights. We’ll train him and see how he develops. He may move up the ranks of squire and knight. If he grows up to be exceptionally skilled, and if his Majesty produces no other heir, we can consider giving him the title of prince.”

“I shall train him personally,” said Bruce with satisfaction.

“You may take him on as a page,” Chancellor Gordon grumbled.

That night it was cold. Bruce went around the hall with a blanket, stepping between the slumbering bodies of his servants and knights. Dick was not in his usual spot and Bruce couldn’t see him anywhere else. What if someone had tried to dispose of the boy after hearing that he was to be Bruce’s heir?

Bruce ran to the upper floor. Maybe Diana would be able to find him. The candles were on in her room, the room that she never slept in. He heard Diana’s voice.

“… he would have to tame the fire-breathing bulls that guarded the Golden Fleece. Only then would King Aees allow Jason to take it.

Dick was tucked up in Diana’s bed – his former four-poster bed. He was squeaky clean, his hair had twice its previous volume and he was wearing silk pyjamas. Diana was on the bed next to him.

“Come and listen to the story, Bruce!” piped up Dick. “Diana has a nice voice.”

Bruce’s heart melted. Whether the Royal Council liked it or not, Dick already looked like a little prince. Diana looked like his mother.


End file.
